


Upon a Christmas

by HolmesianDeduction



Category: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011), Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - All Media Types, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - John Le Carré
Genre: Ann Smiley - Freeform, Bittersweet, Christmas, Domestic, M/M, Mostly Platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolmesianDeduction/pseuds/HolmesianDeduction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both George and Peter are spending Christmas alone, and Peter decides that they might as well do it together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upon a Christmas

             It was late in the afternoon on Christmas day when the knock came at the door of the house on Bywater Street.  Blinking owlishly, and suddenly all too aware that he was still in his dressing gown, George Smiley stood up from his arm chair beside the closed curtains and listened for a second knock, which would confirm, upon a second sharp rap, who it was at the door, but none came.  Finally approaching the door slowly, he unlocked the bolt and opened it to find Peter Guillam standing awkwardly at the door, the collar of his blue wool overcoat pulled up against the cold and his hands still covered by the expensive kid leather of his driving gloves, one of which held a brown shopping bag.

             George stared for what seemed like a long while before finally speaking, his voice barely rising above a whisper.  "Peter?"

             Taking a step into the house, Peter smiled, a slight, pleased twitch of the lips that nevertheless always seemed to transfer itself to George, even in his most morose moments.  "I was spending Christmas alone this year and thought I would come by."  He looked around as he followed George into the kitchen.  "Is Ann in?"

             In response, George merely gave tiny half-smile, evoking a soft " _Oh_ " from Peter's lips as it sank in that George, like him, was quite alone this Christmas.

             Almost as if intending to reassure him, George added mildly, "She's with her family for the holiday.  She was due back today, but I'm not expecting her."  Then, almost inaudibly: "I'm glad that you came."

             As if on cue, the telephone rang, and as George went into the next room to pick it up, Peter let his eyes follow the older man, drifting over the abstract painting in the hallway, the small statuette on the table - Ann's mail was in a small stack beneath it, and beyond that, the slightly minimalistic artificial tree, strung with a few strings of small white lights, with a handful of packages beneath it.  Apart from that, the room was bare of decorations, save what was normally there. Then, after what felt like hours, George reappeared in the doorway, his expression unchanged, and Peter knew instinctively that he had been on the telephone with Ann and that she had only confirmed what he already expected.

             Setting his bag on the table and shedding his overcoat, Peter shivered lightly as he adjusted to the air inside the house and waited for George to reappear again from where he had insisted on hanging up Peter's coat on the coat rack.  Reaching into his back, he produced a bottle and smiling almost sheepishly, set it on the table.  "It's only hard cider," he admitted, "but I thought it was more appropriate for the occasion."

             Smiling faintly, George examined the bottle, then raised an eyebrow as Peter produced a small, covered cake from the bag as well, which Peter embarrassedly explained was a gift from his overfond landlady.  For a moment Peter went for something else in the bag, but hesitated before finally deciding against retrieving it, instead waiting for George to pour two small tumblers of cider before taking the bag with him into the sitting room.

             Once in the sitting room, Peter busied himself almost absently with attempting to light a fire in the neglected fireplace, his long, delicate fingers fumbling with a box of kitchen matches until he finally got enough of a spark and stood up, looking over his shoulder at George with a triumphant smile before retrieving his glass and, shedding his jacket and slipping out of his shoes, taking the chair nearest to George.

             By mid-evening, they had managed to burn through most of the cider - or Peter had at least, and George had shifted almost unconsciously to the chair nearest to the fire, the sash of his dressing gown knotted tightly at his waist despite his pyjamas.  Peter, still in his shirtsleeves and socks, had somehow ended up partially curled up on the rug at George's feet, half-dozing and catlike, his head resting contentedly against the older man's knee, where George's fingers carded absently through his mussed blond hair.

             Eventually, George leaned over just enough to peer into Peter's bag, left near the chair and forgotten.  Inside was a small package wrapped in dark green paper that was, George discovered upon attempting to use one hand to lift it out of the bag, heavier than it looked.  Careful not to wake Peter, he slid the package onto his lap, examining it and raising his eyebrows slightly when he saw his own name carefully stencilled onto the paper in Peter's meticulous, albeit cramped handwriting.  Making a tiny tear in the paper and folding it back from there, George unwrapped the package to reveal a relatively slim volume - a book of poetry in German that Peter must have overheard George discussing with Connie.

             Looking down at Peter's half-reclined form from over the edge of the book, George was suddenly seized by a whim and flipped the book open to the inside cover.  Inside, he was only half-surprised to find a small inscription written in Peter's hand, which had been, it seemed, trembling at the time of writing.  It was not that, but the wording of the inscription, which send a small shock down George's spine and a drew a shaky exhalation from his lips.  It had been an unconscious choice of words on Peter's part, he was certain of that, but all the same, it came as a completely unexpected surprise.

              _"Merry Christmas._  
              _To_ _George,_  
              _From Peter._  
              _All My Love."_

             In the half-light of the sitting room, the telephone rang, and George almost stood up to answer it, but looked down at the book in his lap, and at the inscription, then further down at Peter, now fully asleep against his leg, and as the telephone rang again, George Smiley allowed his hand to drift back into Peter's hair as he resolutely ignored it.


End file.
